"Just put cheese on YOUR broccoli, not mine."

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

Holy shit!

I am still slightly hungover from last night's wine spree. I do NOT need this this morning.

J.C. is a man who works in the cubicle diagonal from mine.

J.C. is a very nice man--don't get me wrong. Sometimes, he's more than mildly amusing and he's definitely, well, quirky. And quirkiness can be amusing at times. And he's genuinely a decent person, really.

But sweet Lord in Heaven, he is ever-so-slowly driving me insane. Like fucking Chinese-water-torture insane. He may be the most annoying person I've ever come across with ZERO--and I mean ZERO--consideration for the people around him.

I spoke about Fred a short while ago here: http://throwingtomatoesbackatthecrowd.blogspot.com/2006/09/fred.html

Well, Fred was nothing compared to this.

Again, J.C. is a good man. When I'm not in my shitty cubicle trying to conentrate on something or another, he's perfectly likable, I suppose.

But he is the LOUDEST individual I have ever come across.

For starters, he sings. Like, when people are trying to write stuff. In public affairs, we write shit. As a result, we need to be able to concentrate once in a while in ORDER to write anything even semi-decent. This is now fucking IMPOSSIBLE because J.C. is ALWAYS FUCKING SINGING.

Now, J.C. has a nice voice, don't get me wrong. But I don't give two shits HOW nice his voice is, it pisses me the fuck off when I'm trying to write about something that I'm ALREADY frustrated over because I'm not really interested in it to BEGIN with.

Secondly, J.C.--get a fucking set of headphones, for the love of Christ. I am ever-so sick and tired of listening to "Celtic Woman" over and over again at a way-too-high-volume for the workplace. And when I'm not listening to random Irish music, I'm listening to a recording of some interview you conducted with some colonel or some presentation you gave at some event.

As a matter of fact, right now, I am listening to some web-streamed awards event that you have at a ridiculously high volume. I hear crazy fucking Star-Wars-like music that I just don't want to hear now or EVER.

I don't know if you are deaf, sir. But if you are, perhaps I should learn "turn down the volume and use your headphones" in fucking sign language.

Thirdly, J.C. talks to himself. A lot. He speaks, out loud, at least half of the time, every single task he does. No, really. Imagine hearing this man, typing out a story, saying the following:

"...the...air...force's...initiative...is...quite...innovative...says...colonel...stevens...period....spacebar..."

Yeah. I kid you not.

Fourthly, the whistling. Really. No further explanation necessary. Jesus Christ Himself would be annoyed at constant whistling of the William Tell overture. Enough.

Fifthly (if fifthly is actually a word), his wife calls his cell phone. AROUND THE CLOCK. It's 8:30 a.m. and she just called to ask him if he wanted cheese on his broccoli tonight at dinner. I kid you not. And this wouldn't be so bad if I couldn't hear every word both of them said or if his fucking ringtone wasn't so damn annoying ("Sex and the City" song).

Broccoli and cheese does sound good right now.

But I digress.

And finally, J.C. feels it 110% completely necessary to actually ANNOUNCE whenever he enters or exits his desk area. He will actually SCREAM, "OK, all! I'm taking off!" or will whistle or sing some sort of exit/entrance song. It's as if he feels as if you NEED to know whether he's there or not.

I mean, what the fuck? Do you have your own Catholic Mass or something? Do we really need to have an entrance and exit hymn EVERY FUCKING DAY? Please stop.

Sometimes, I listen to J.C., frustrated that this, my friends, THIS is what my life has come to. All the hard work. All the schooling. It has come to my sitting in a cramped cubicle, listening to a grown man behave like a child who is nothing but content to disturb the people around him on a constant basis.

Yes, my friends. I wonder every day why I have not yet offed myself.